It truly deserves the title "classic" in every possible sense of the word. However, one must be well-prepared.

With over 700 pages, it is a substantial volume. So, if you have a penchant for a story that is told with meticulous detail, you are in for a wonderful treat. On the other hand, if you prefer a more concise and to-the-point story, perhaps a comic book would be a better choice.

While reading the diverse reviews written by their respective authors, I noticed a distinct pattern. If the story did not align with their favorite genres and writing styles, they simply failed to establish a connection with it. This is not at all surprising.

In my personal opinion, some of these critics seem to enjoy making a career out of nitpicking and carping about various things. Therefore, it is advisable to take their opinions with a grain (or perhaps two) of salt.

Rather than simply appreciating the work for its inherent value and considering it within the context of the author's personal experience during the times in which he lived, they tend to rely solely on their cold, dry, and pseudo-intellectual analysis.

That being said, it is recommended that you read the synopsis (outline) first and determine if there are any themes in the story with which you can identify.

Just like the melody in a song, the story's main themes will recur throughout, even as the story takes you to seemingly different places, events, and people, which can be likened to the lyrics of a song.

"You can't go home again," first uttered by Thomas Wolfe in his classic of the same name, is now an old cliché.

The two-part story that this saying sums up was truly remarkable. In the extremely detailed and descriptive writing style of Wolfe, it became very prosaic.

No one writes quite like Wolfe, that's for sure. Each paragraph is infused with his passion and intellect, making it a pleasure to read.

However, I give this work 4 stars instead of 5 because the story, despite being wonderful, has its drawbacks. Mostly, it has a tendency to beat around the bush, which can sometimes make the narrative a bit convoluted.

But from now on, the adventures of George Webber will be forever etched in my memory. And overall, it is a great piece of literature that offers many insights into the human condition.

All in all, it is a work that is well worth reading and reflecting upon.

Re: _You Can't Go Home Again _ (1940) By Thomas Wolfe

I read to page 195 but did not finish the book. This is very dense reading, but I was floored by its beauty. I copied the following quote by hand, before the days of computers. The quote is truly magnificent, painting a vivid picture of the unchanging aspects of nature and life. It makes one stop and listen to the world around them.

I didn't get much further than that in the book. The print was small and the prose was dense. However, I found other quotes of Wolfe's that also had a profound impact on me. One quote, from Goodreads, speaks about the impossibility of going back to various aspects of our lives. It makes us realize that time moves forward and things change.

Another quote, copied from a newsgroup, is a shortened version of the one above but still holds the same essence. It emphasizes the idea that we can't return to the past, to the people and places we once knew.

Some day I should go back and try reading this book again, perhaps in a larger print. I also watched the movie, "Genius" (2016), which chronicles Max Perkins's time as a book editor and his work with Thomas Wolfe and other famous authors. It was an interesting and engaging movie that gave me a better understanding of the literary world during that time.

Overall, Thomas Wolfe's work has left a lasting impression on me, and I look forward to exploring more of his writings in the future.

Wolfe's posthumously published work, "You Can't Go Home Again," offers a detailed account of his life and keen observations. Spanning from the late 1920s to his visit to Germany in 1936, this book delves deep into his experiences. The central theme of the book is Wolfe's profound realization that his attempts to document his early life in the same way were no longer possible. As a published author, he becomes increasingly aware of the various obstacles and opportunities that come his way. In this work, he showcases a cast of unusual characters, each with their own idiosyncrasies. Moreover, he fearlessly exposes the culture of the time, highlighting all its faults and flaws. Through his vivid descriptions and incisive commentary, Wolfe provides readers with a unique perspective on a bygone era.

If I have an admiration for an author's writing, I will copy and preserve the excerpts that I truly like. I discovered numerous such passages in "You Can't Go Home again." His vivid descriptions of the homeless during the depression on pages 352 - 353 are quite remarkable. Additionally, his profound philosophy on what it means to be a man, which can be found on pages 368 - 371, makes one think deeply. The yearning desperation that a man feels as he resists mortality, as described on page 18, is also very poignant. And his musings on what it means to be an American, presented on pages 637 - 638, add another layer of depth to the work.

However, his writing is not all flawless. In fact, I found it rather disjointed. So much so that his editor had to take the initiative to enhance the narrative flow by adding italicized bridges to connect the different sections of the book. The actual story, unfortunately, failed to move or inspire me. I wasn't particularly drawn to the main character, George Weber. I didn't have any care or feel a connection with him.

A common theme in most of my favorite novels and films is the transient nature of man in contrast to the earth, which is also present in this story. As it is stated on page 39, "Only the earth endures, but it endures forever." I read that this book was believed to be a somewhat autobiographical novel. While I can't definitively say whether that is true or not, I had the impression that it was Wolfe's written account of his thoughts, beliefs, philosophies, and a defense of his lifestyle choices.

This complex and multi-faceted work offers both moments of brilliance and areas that could have been improved. It makes one reflect on the nature of writing, storytelling, and the human experience.

Overall, "You Can't Go Home again" is a book that has its strengths and weaknesses, and it will likely continue to be a subject of discussion and analysis among readers and literary scholars alike.

"You Can't Go Home, Again" is truly not so much a fictional work as it is an autobiography with the names of the characters altered. Wolfe appeared unrepentant about the blatantly autobiographical nature of his work.

Yet, some might view his autobiography as an indication of a certain lack of creative scope and an aversion to taking creative risks on his part. Wolfe's life was lived so deeply and richly within a relatively short span and was written about so lyrically that his autobiography reads as vividly as fiction. There are times when Wolfe is brilliant and dazzling in描绘 moments of almost biblical revelation.

I suppose it is a fortunate thing for Wolfe that he delved so deeply into his own life, as it was tragically short yet intensely experienced and eloquently articulated: he managed to pack a great deal into his brief lifespan. Wolfe reads quite a bit like Proust, and in this novel, the sentences in some places are nearly as long as Proust's syntax. Wolfe could well be regarded as the Proust of the American South.

Writers will particularly appreciate this work, and it is worthwhile to read until the end, as Wolfe's last novel is especially revealing in its power, optimism, and lyricism at its conclusion: "What befalls man is a tragic lot. There is no denying this in the final end. But we must deny it all along the way. Mankind was fashioned for eternity." In the end, Wolfe finds a comfortable place on a promontory point in America's literary landscape. To understand the life of the writer in America at the beginning of the 20th century during a Golden Age for the novel, I recommend this worthy and enduring gem of that era.

This is such a beautiful and bittersweet novel to reread.

It is abundantly clear that the great genius Thomas Wolfe was maturing. He was spreading his wings beyond himself, fully aware that he needed to cast off the shackles of Eugene Gant and embrace the new character of George Webber to write about those outside himself.

While I was disappointed with the stereotypical portrayal of Nora as an alcoholic, which体现了 some of the casual racism seen in Wolfe's earlier fiction, I truly believe that had he lived, he would have outgrown this.

Thomas Wolfe was learning. Despite his suggestion that Webber would be "dried up by 40," I don't think his youthful energies would have waned significantly.

He was an incredible observational reporter and a brilliantly talented writer. The countless portraits of people in this book are vivid and poignant.

His later work showed that he was learning to be more subtle and focused, although there are still some dull moments.

Some of his depictions of the so-called rabble are far more dimensional than in his earlier work.

His empathy is vast, especially in his portrayals of the Depression and Nazi Germany. He demonstrates an instinctive understanding of power, institutions, and their impact on people's lives.

Near the end of the book, there is a harrowing passage where a man is arrested in Nazi Germany. Wolfe, with his big heart, knows what will happen to the man and condemns what humanity has become.

Here was a man who dared to chronicle the world as extensively as possible. This is a noble endeavor by any artistic standard.

The truly sad thing about reading "You Can't Go Home Again" is not knowing how it would have evolved in the 1940s and 1950s if he hadn't died at the age of 37.

Really, this is a masterpiece. Rereading it as Trump was re-elected helped to reaffirm my commitment to humanity.

Thomas Wolfe deserved better than the shabby treatment he received from postwar critics. (Fuck you, Edmund Wilson, in particular.)

Read this book to remind yourself of where the American mentality could have gone if more of us had summoned an unwavering curiosity and truly cared about our fellow humans.

Rambling, disconnected, frustrating, and uneventful.

Wolfe’s first novel, “Look Homeward, Angel” is truly one of my all-time favorite books. When I picked up “You Can’t Go Home Again,” I had high expectations, hoping for something similar. However, I was greatly disappointed as I found very little to like in this book.

The story was fragmented and uneven. It often gave the impression of being a mere collection of sketches or short stories rather than a cohesive novel. Characters, places, ideas, and themes were introduced and built up, only to be dropped abruptly. The last ten pages, in particular, introduced important backstory that had never been touched on before, leaving the reader feeling cheated.

Much of the story is set in New York City, but Wolfe’s writing about this place and its inhabitants never felt as thoughtful or insightful as his descriptions of his hometown in the south.

The prose itself was less lyrical, less beautiful, and less expressive. It was almost as if his sentences mirrored the more rigid and organized structure of New York City, in contrast to the winding mountain roads of Asheville.

I had some knowledge of Wolfe’s career and his relationship with his editors, but it wasn’t until after I finished this baffling and unsatisfying book that I delved deeper and discovered that Wolfe’s final novels were stitched together by his last editor, Edward Aswell, from a single one-million-word manuscript after Wolfe’s death.

I’m no scholar, but after reading both books, I much prefer Maxwell Perkins’s overzealous cutting that gave us “LHA” to whatever process Aswell went through to arrive at “YCGHA.” Since Wolfe died before the latter was published, it’s hard to say if Aswell could have negotiated with Wolfe (as Perkins had) through editing and restructuring to make it better. In the absence of that, we only have the finished products to judge, and for me, it’s a clear vindication of Perkins.

Was this what I was expecting?

Not quite. I was initially invested in the story until about half-way through. However, as the narrative progressed, I found myself getting rather bored of the storyline. There were indeed things happening throughout the course of the story, but by the end, it felt like nothing significant had actually occurred.

Overall, for myself, it was a pretty average experience. I had hoped for more excitement, more twists and turns, and a more engaging conclusion. But unfortunately, it fell short of my expectations.

Perhaps others may have a different opinion, but for me, this particular story failed to leave a lasting impression. It was just another average read that I will likely forget about in the not-too-distant future.

A brilliant work of genius from one of my favorite authors.

No, it wasn't plot driven. It was an unconventional novel, strung together by his editor posthumously. It features vignettes from his more recent past, culminating in a prophetic and lyrical ending.

He had recently traveled to Germany where Hitler had taken hold. He left the continent with a foreboding of what was to come. Because Wolfe died in 1938, he didn't witness the full outcome of the Holocaust and WWII.

The last chapter was a letter of farewell to his beloved editor, Foxhall Edwards. He compares Foxhall to Ecclesiasticus in his personal philosophy, which is a philosophy of hopeful fatalism, or pessimism with hope. He is separating from Foxhall now because they have a disagreement. Wolfe does not believe that mankind is doomed or that as "old tyrannies are overthrown, new ones, as sinister and evil, would reign after them." Wolfe believes that we must deny it all along the way, even though it may be the final end.

Wolfe feels that he was caught in a giant web of torrential recollectiveness. That is a perfect description of his incredible writing. I literally held my breath while reading because his writing is that good. He was cursed with obsessive observation and the desire to understand the human condition and write about it from his perspective.

The final two pages are chilling. He describes the enemy that will come to us with the face of innocence. "His own true face is old as Hell."

At the end he states that "something has spoken to me in the night, and told me I shall die... We all know that he died unexpectedly, and too young.

A ponderous, sprawling, autobiographical novel that delves into America and Europe in the 1920s and 30s, revealing acute insights into the human condition of that era. Thomas Woolfe's novels seem to be ripped from real life. They lack a traditional plot, focus on characters, and are disjointed, yet are stitched together through painstaking editing, with the editor even writing whole sections to hold the disparate parts together.

In this seven-part tome, each part labeled a book, carved out from a larger body of unpublished work left at the time of the author's early death, resulting in two posthumous novels and a collection of shorter pieces. Wolfe explores the aftermath of the publication of his first novel and the success of his second, along with his travels through the seven intervening years of the Great Depression, as he battles his inner demons and those he has unleashed in public.

Book 1 follows his fictional alter ego, George Webber, as he returns home to Libya Hill in the deep south for his aunt's funeral and witnesses a community caught up in a real estate speculation bubble. George observes that companies create needs rather than satisfy them, and salesmanship is the enemy of truth.

Book 2 takes place at a wealthy house party, where the lady is George's lover, ten years his senior. He paints a disparaging picture of the rich, highlighting their hypocrisy. A fire in the building levels the playing field and gives George an out.

Book 3 sees the Crash of 1929, realizing George's fears from Book 1. His first novel, an exposé of his small town,引发了一场针对他的仇恨风暴. The literati in New York embrace his book, but he soon realizes that success is an illusion.

Book 4描绘了他在布鲁克林的落魄生活, with a cross-section of interesting characters. This section is filled with essays on the city, the state of man, and the distinction between creators and academics.

Book 5 takes us to England, where George experiences the social life with the help of his landlady, Mrs. Purvis. He concludes that the wealth is concentrated in the hands of a few, and the move to the countryside is a sign of a failed intellectual.

Book 6 is set in Germany and features a long train journey with a cross-section of society, including a fearful Jew. The evils of the Nazis and the potential for Nazism to take root in America are brought to the forefront.

Book 7 is a confessional letter to his editor Fox, retracing his life and some of the wrong turns he took. While it feels more like a postscript, it emphasizes the importance of the editor in shaping his work.

In conclusion, while Woolfe makes penetrating observations, writes beautiful prose, and creates fine characters, the book could have benefited from further editing. Nevertheless, it has narrative thrust and provokes intellectual curiosity, making it an unwieldy but penetrating read for those with the time and inclination to think.

First of all, this is an extremely long book - 736 pages in my edition.

I read approximately half of it earlier this year but simply got exhausted and set it aside. It was only a few days ago that I resolved to pick it up once more and complete it.

There were numerous aspects of this book that I relished. The style is elaborate yet lucid, and the author constructs fascinating psychological profiles of diverse characters, encompassing a wide gamut of different types of people. It presents an engaging portrayal of the hedonistic and reckless mindset of the late 1920s, along with the kind of stubborn, blind optimism that was tinged, yet not tempered, by the sense, on some level, that the prosperity of the 1920s was built on a precarious foundation and was bound to crumble sooner or later. What I also found intriguing is that the book seems to consist of what I perceive as a plethora of individual life slices, strung together to form a more or less coherent narrative, which is the sort of book the author protagonist appears to describe himself as writing in the second half of the novel.

In my opinion, the book has two significant drawbacks. The first is that the ending is extremely ungraceful and heavy-handed. The final chapter is the protagonist's manifesto addressed to his editor, summarizing everything he learned during the course of the time period the novel narrates. Isn't there a more refined way to convey a point than by hitting the reader over the head with it in a manifesto? The chapters on Nazi Germany and his reflections on Americanism versus what is characterized as "atavistic Europe" give the impression of having been inserted into the novel as a propaganda piece, and even if they weren't, they also seem rather clumsy.

The second is that what emerges from it all is a thoroughly modernistic conception of art. Art is only Art with a capital "A" if it is created by a capital-"A" Artist, who is not a craftsman but an intellectual belonging to a particular caste, someone who, it seems to be implied, is almost genetically distinct, has received a certain type of education, and moves in certain circles. The aesthetic quality of something is immaterial; rather, beauty doesn't even exist. "Realism," which to modernists means "grittiness," is venerated. As a former visual arts student who had this idea force-fed to me by professors and witnessed it eagerly adopted and internalized by my self-proclaimed bohemian classmates, I am somewhat averse to this kind of thinking.

All in all, I believe the book offers some interesting perspectives on the Great Depression and the crash, but it is not worth the nearly 800-page slog. It is also worth noting that this was published posthumously, so it is possible that the clumsiness I mentioned may have been partly due to the book not being truly finished or to the heavy-handed work of some philistine editor.